


sweater town

by mysteryguest, roscpctals



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Autistic Ford Pines, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ford Pines and Mabel Pines Bonding, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mabel Pines has ADHD, Panic Attacks, Scars, Stimming, ford and mabel barely do any bonding together in the show and we are here to FIX THAT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:09:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24795202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysteryguest/pseuds/mysteryguest, https://archiveofourown.org/users/roscpctals/pseuds/roscpctals
Summary: ford isn't having a very good night in sweater town, not when the scars across his arm are reminding him of much-too-awful times.and then, mabel shows up.
Relationships: Fiddauthor implied very briefly, Fiddleford H. McGucket/Ford Pines, Ford Pines & Mabel Pines
Comments: 9
Kudos: 188





	sweater town

\---

It was probably, say, half past midnight, Ford would estimate, from the lack of noise upstairs to the faint draft in the lab, and the lack of sunlight from the cracks in the wooden ceiling.

  
Though, it was hard to tell anyways, considering his head was buried in the neck of his sweater at the moment.

Just like his niece did.

It was foolish, really— being so careless in the pursuit of an experiment that the sleeve of his sweater got burnt off that night, and now it was too warm to wear his overcoat along with it.

Scars from fork indents, to burns, to bruises, to stitches- it all littered his visible arm, and frankly, Ford couldn’t bother to look at them.

Not when they reminded him so much of _you-know-who_ , and _you-know-what_.

  
  
Slowly, he takes a breath in and holds it for one, two, three, then exhales for four, five, six… And again, one two three, then exhale, four five six- except, he couldn’t hold it for long enough, or he couldn’t exhale long enough, so he pushed that option out of the window.

With a choked sigh, he reluctantly pulled his eyes over the neck of his sweater, and began to wiggle his fingers forward and back, forward and back, forward and back repeatedly- and usually it would calm him down but in the corner of his eye he saw the triangular-shaped burn on the side of his wrist, so he pushes his face back down into his sweater once more.

Just a bit deeper this time.

And then there was a sudden _CLANG-CLANG-CLANG_ and the familiar sound of the elevator dropping down filled his ears. He wondered who it was, though not looking up.

''Gru—'' a voice paused.

Then the pitter-patter of footsteps could be heard. A slight creak gave away as someone sat beside him-

Dully, he wonders if it’s Dipper, if he’s just being polite by not saying anything, by not stopping him from rocking back and forth, and back and forth, again, and again… It’s silent for a while, aside from the extra person’s faint breathing, and Ford is thankful for that. 

(He’d rather not explain why he was acting childish and rocking himself and hiding beneath his own clothing.)

The person leaned into him, and Ford halted. Uncovering his eyes the slightest bit, he looked to the side and met Mabel’s own worried eyes.

Neither said anything for a moment.

“Are you okay, Grunkle Ford?” Mabel asked quietly, frowning.

No, Ford thought. He really wasn’t.

“Fine,” Ford rasped instead, eyes darting to anywhere but his arm, which he covered with his other.

“...No, you’re not,” Mabel whispered, hugging onto Ford’s arm- his scarred, burnt, hideous arm- “But that’s okay. You don’t have to be okay all the time.”

Ford taps the tips of his shoes together, ducking his head inside his sweater once more.

It’s silent again, aside from the faint _tap, tap, tap_ of his shoes.

  
  
  
“Did you know wool isn’t actually that popular for knitting? A lot of people think wool is better for it,” Mabel says suddenly, and Ford looks down at her. “It’s mostly used for beginners, though, but fine cotton and natural fibers are _waaay_ more popular if you’re serious about knitting.”

Ford did, in fact, know that.

“Really,” Ford says quietly. “I didn’t know that.”

Mabel beams at him, braces gleaming ever so slightly.

“Mhm!” Mabel hums, still grinning wide, her nightgown drifting around her legs as they swing side to side. “Ooh, cashmere is a super soft type of yarn too! even if it doesn’t block out the cold as much as wool does- but the softest type of wool is merino wool. Isn’t that cool?”

“Yeah,” Ford says. He couldn’t stop the soft smile that formed, even if his own arm felt detached from himself at the moment. “You… know a lot about yarn.”

Mabel returns him a knowing smile and nods.

“So, Grunkle Ford,” Mabel starts casually _(as if she weren’t aware of the many scars across his arms, now—)_ , “Do you have any hobbies other than science-y stuff?”

Ford ceases.

When was Mabel going to ask about his scars? Surely she wasn’t going to just- to just leave it be, no one ever did that when they saw, no one ever.

Ford opens his mouth to speak, unsure of what he would even answer with. Science was all he ever really was interested in his whole life— but then Mabel speaks up again.

“Actually, y’know what, nevermind- that was a boring question,” Mabel hums thoughtfully. “Oh! Here’s a good question- d’you have any crushes?!” She asks excitedly.

Ford pauses to let out an airy laugh. Him, romance? He lost any chance of it years and years and years ago, surely…

“No,” He croaks. “That’s… I don’t- no.”

“You sure? C’ _monnn_ , Grunkle Ford, you can tell me these things! I _live_ for romance!” She whines dramatically, before sighing. “Well, we all know you have a thing for Mr. McGucket anyways, so-”

Ford sputters and coughs, and for at least just a second he forgets all about his troubled thoughts.

Mabel snickers, the traitor.

“I- don’t know where you got that idea,” Ford replies weakly.

Mabel says nothing, and raises an eyebrow with a smile.  
Ford’s arm starts to itch, and he glances down to find his arm was no longer covered, and quickly masks it again. Mabel notices- she always notices, even the littlest things apparently.

“Hey, Grunkle Ford?” Mabel asks, and Ford turns to peers at her once more.

“...Yes?” He replies, his voice scratchy.

  
Mabel purses her lips, before smiling back up at him again.

“I think your scars are really pretty.” She says, and Ford feels like he’s been punched right in the stomach, and all his oxygen has been pushed out of his lungs, and- “Maybe not the way you got them. But I think it just shows that you survived, and that’s super cool.”

Ford breathlessly opens his mouth ever so slightly, but closes it once again. He has nothing to say to that, and frankly, even if he did, he wasn’t sure he’d want to say it anyways.

“I have some scars too!” Mabel keeps going, burying herself into his side further. “I have some from stitches I got when I went to the hospital one time, or a burn when I was little and thought I was a firebender from Avatar- and they were pretty painful to get, but I just think it shows how strong I am!”

Ford exhales sharply through his nose— not quite a laugh, but almost.

“And you’re super _duper_ strong, Grunkle Ford,” Mabel murmured. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

  
And then his throat feels choked and oh, Ford thinks, that’s strange. He really wants to cry, all of a sudden. Instead, he gently wraps his heavy arms around Mabel as he rests his head on top of her hazelnut hair.

She returns the gesture with tiny arms, squeezing as she cuddles into him, and the two of them listen to the faint humming of tech around the room.

And soon, his eyes flutter closed.

  
As the morning came, Stan finds them in the early hours, a chuckle escaping and leaves a double of Ford's usual sweater laying across the back of a chair, silently moving to leave the two of them to rest.

But not without taking a photo, of course.

\---


End file.
